Daughter of Fear
by Morian Bloodmoon
Summary: I was an art therapist at Arkham Asylum. I used to have friends and family. But no more. HE says I am his new legacy, the child he never had. I'm now trapped in HIS nightmare. Hello, is anyone out there? Can anyone help me!  Please R&R, critiquing allowed
1. Author's Note

Daughter of Fear

Author's Note

**MUST READ**

This story is made up of my own personal journal entries: from my days as an art therapist at Arkham Asylum, to when I am the "adopted" daughter of The Scarecrow. I will also add my session recordings in the mix.

Later on in the story you will also see snippets of Dr. Jonathan Crane's journal, but not much. Most of his journals he destroyed or had been damage over time. His Journals were mostly pieces of torn up scrap paper and, thus, can be difficult to read.

Each chapter will contain a weeks worth of journal entries, sometimes less or more. Before I begin a chapter, I will do a collage of sorts to represent and foreshadow the chapter that will follow.

First though, will be the introduction, whish will be just in written format.

This story has a theme song to it. It is from Japan and is probably to an anime. I'm not quite sure. The song is entitled 'Child's Play", and it is by Hazuki Nano from the album: Gothika. If that is right. The song is almost like a nursery rhyme and it is extremely eerie; very fitting for the Scarecrow, but it also has a feminine touch to it for the Daughter of Fear.

Here's the link: .com/watch?v=r2vSkyQjH1o

Lyrics:

_Where are my eyes_

_Where is my lip?_

_Why is here a place_

_Cold darkness here?_

_There are children playing_

_In a mirror._

_Laughter does not leave under the _

_Labyrinth_

_Red blood gets my body wet_

_And who is killing me?_

_Where is my hair?_

_Where is my foot?_

_Why is here a place _

_Cold darkness here?_

_Want to feel warmth of _

_Skin gets wet as having got wet_

_And rain_

_And who is killing me?_

Each of the chapters will contain this song in the illustration.

This is a project I and my best friend are working on. If you too enjoy the tale, comments will be much appreciated. Tell me what you like about the story or what you don't like. But be warned: I will not accept flames, ridicule, and rudeness. This story is something for my enjoyment that I thought to share with you.

I never stuck with a project very well, so this kind of a test for me. I will try my hardest to see this through the end.

Thank you for your time. Now, let the tale begin!

With Love,

Morian Bloodmoon

AKA

Margaret A. Ellis

(I will use my real name in the story)


	2. Introduction: HELP

**Daughter of Fear**

**Introduction**

I don't think anyone would understand. I can barely understand it myself. But I can try to make you understand, even though I don't. Somehow I ended up here. Where is here? I don't know. Maybe you do. Maybe that's why I'm telling you.

Wait. What was I talking about?

I'm hearing things. I'm seeing things.

The toxin's time released. I'm lucky I can even hold a pen. Gods, make them stop! Make HIM stop.

I hate that fucking bastard! I hate him. I love him. HE's like a father to me. HE's a monster!

I used to be strong. I used to be able to fight. Now, I'm the daughter he never had, the child he couldn't conceive.

The fear is gone, for now. Thank the Gods. Thank the Gods. Thank the Gods.

My train of thought is going off its tracks. Here. Take it. These are my journals. Read them. Understand. Because I don't. Maybe then, you can tell me why. Why am I here? What is here?

Can I be saved?

**Daughter of Fear**


	3. Week 1

**Daughter of Fear**

**Week 1**

_Day 1 September, Monday_

**5:18 pm **

It's official, I'm in Hell. I can't take a step outside my new "office" without the screams of our "patients" violating my ears! The "patients" are in fact the damned souls in this Hell, condemned for the next twenty years to life to be tortured and so forth.

Oh, and my "office" is actually just a hole in a wall-literally-with a door covering it. I'm not kidding. The walls in here I swear are made of paper. The screams seem to be extra loud in this hole, reverberating off of the walls and giving the screams an echo. As I'm writing this I have my headphones stuffed into my ears. Even they don't help.

Dr. Jeremiah Arkham personally escorted me to my office this morning. Bastard. He gave me the rest of day to set everything up and to go through the patients' files.

I blinked twice at the file label he gave me: Cell Block C

No fucking way!

I'm a damn rookie at this! And he actually _expects _me to work with the damn Rogues? Maybe this doctor _was_ as crazy as his patients. I asked him about the assignment.

He said: "I've heard of your work, Margaret. You were quite impressive in your classes, I was told. Even though you are young and inexperienced, I believe you have to capability too-blah, blah, death wish. Blah, blah, you're gonna die. Blah, blah…"

Okay, so Dr. Arkham didn't say that last part. But that's all I heard! These inmates weren't a bunch of pushovers, these were the _Rogues_. They were the terrors and nightmares of Gotham. The Rogues were almost surreal, as if from an ancient mythology. But they were very much real…and dangerous. This doctor had to be kidding! It had to be a joke, right?

Right?

Nope.

Dr. Arkham truly assigned me to the deadliest human beings to ever spawn. I don't even consider them people. They were monsters! The things they do…

It's a wonder anyone can sleep at night in this city.

Well, I have to call it an…evening. Tomorrow is my first patient. Yeah, _really _not looking forward to it. I don't know who it is yet, Dr. Leland will tell me when I come in tomorrow morning.

Goodnight.

_Dr. Margaret A. Ellis_

_Art Therapist_

_Arkham Asylum_

_Day 2 September, Tuesday_

**9:01 am**

Dr. Leland escorted me to my office. She had a few things to say to me.

"Margaret, your first session will be at 1:00 this afternoon. Your patient is Jervis Tetch-"

"The Mad Hatter?"

"Yes. Now, be sure to reread his file this morning, we want you to go in as prepared as possible. Mr. Tetch is an unpredictable man; you will be his first female doctor in over a year."

"That's comforting."

"It is. Remember: keep your distance from him, don't give him physical contact, and-"

"In other words: Don't rattle his cage."

"Yes, Margaret."

This was going to be a _long _session.

"Hey, Leland…"

We had stopped by vent.

"Why is Jeremiah jumping me into this?"

"Oh! Well…I suppose he wants to see if your methods can reach out the inmates."

"Bull."

"Alright, you caught me! In actuality, Dr. Arkham doesn't believe in art therapy. He thinks it's a bunch of crap. You, Margaret, are his experiment. He wants to see you fail at this, and hard."

"Huh, go figure. Well, I don't expect to 'reach out' to anyone, but I do expect to _live_."

"He even doubts that."

"Shit! Is it something personal?'

"It doesn't have to be. That's just the way it is."

"That's a bunch of crap! I can't believe this…I'll fucking show him! I-"

Something was touching my hair. Long, thin. Whatever they were, they tickled my scalp, sending chills up my spine. Even writing and looking back at it, GAH! I'm still freaked!

The spindly assailants grew bolder as they began to grad and lightly pull at my hair. I then remembered I was standing in front of the vent.

I opened my mouth.

"No, Margaret. If you scream, he'll pull you through the vent."

Sweat had started to sprout on my forehead. Really fucking comforting!

Fingers. That's what was touching me. Fingers that came out of the vent. I had shivered at the thought.

"Hmm, interesting. Normally he stops by now."

Leland smiled, "I guess he's taken an interest in you."

_Really_ not comforting!

"Don't worry, Margaret, I'll get him off of you. Crane! You have exactly ten seconds to get back in your cell before I call the guards on you!"

The fingers quickly went back into the vent. I heard movement and rustling behind me as they retreated. It wasn't until the noises faded away that I released my breath. I didn't know I was holding it.

I was panting so hard, "Oh, Gods!"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I was kind of scared, that's all."

"Better not let Dr. Crane here that."

"So, that was really Jonathan Crane?"

"Yes."

"Scarecrow."

"Yes"

"Oh, terrific. Hey, Leland…"

"Yes, Margaret?"

"Can they _all_ get out of their cells?"

"Yes."

**Session 1**

**Jervis Tetch**

**1:00 pm**

"_My first patient is Mr. Jervis Lewis Tetch aka The Mad Hatter. He's been diagnosed with schizophrenia and manic depression. He's prone to delusions and is very homicidal. *sighs* Crap, where was I? Oh, yeah. Apparently, also he's a mild OCD…Gods, the list goes on…*flipping pages* _

"_His crimes include: robbery, kidnapping, murder, and…rape. His victims are usually blonde women with blue eyes-well, I'm fucked. *more flipping* I'm so not going to cover all this! This is too much!_

"_Alright. Guards, let him in!"_

_*door opens, footsteps, shuffling*_

"_Thanks, guys. You can wait outside. I'll call if your needed." _

_*door closes*_

"_Jervis, I'm Dr. Ellis. I'm the new art therapist, in case you were wondering about the paper and colored pencils at the desk."_

"_Oh! I see! How frabjous it is to meet you. May I ask what is your first name?"_

"_No."_

"_But you call me by mine. It's only fair!"_

"_*sighs* No."_

"_Please! Please, please, please, pleases, PLEASE!"_

"_Fine! Margaret."_

"_Hm, that name is pleasant enough, but do you know the perfect name? I believe it would suit you better!"_

"_Let me guess…"_

"_Alice!"_

"_Of course."_

"_May I call you that, Alice?"_

"_No! My name is Margaret, but you may _call _me Dr. Ellis."_

"_Well, it sort of _sounds _like 'Alice'."_

"_Jervis…"_

"_Oh, right…sorry, Dr. Alice."_

"_*groans* Let's get started then." _

"_Frabjous!…What do we do?"_

"_Well, you see that paper?"_

"_Yes."_

"_You see those pencils?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Draw."_

"_That's it? Bloody arts and crafts! I'm not artistic."_

"_Really! Knowing who you are, I wouldn't have thought that! You seem _very _creative."_

"_No, its just the hat."_

"_*groans*Just draw, Jervis."_

"_But what shall I draw."_

"_Anything. I don't care."_

"_You're not a very good therapist, are you?"_

"_I'm new."_

"_Ah."_

"_Now, please, draw. Whatever's one your mind."_

"_Oh, very well, Dr. Alice."_

_*shuffling of paper, scrabbling*_

"_Look! It's me and Alice. We're having tea."_

"_That's…good."_

_*scribbling*_

_*scribbling stops*_

"_Jervis?"_

_*silence*_

"_What's wrong?"_

"_Tea. Tea. Tea. Tea…"_

"_What?"_

_*frantic scribbling*_

"_TeA tEa TeA tEa TeA tEa TeA tEa!"_

"_Jervis, stop!"_

_*falling of chair, running*_

"_Let go of the pencil! Jervis!"_

"_TeA tEa TeA tEa!"_

"_Jervis! You're bleeding!"_

"_TeA tEa TeA tEa-NO!"_

"_AHHHHHHHHH! Jervis, let go! GUARDS! GUARDS!"_

_*door busted open, running*_

"_Doctor!"_

"_Oh, Christ he's _biting _her!"_

"_Don't stand there staring-AHHHH! My arm!"_

"_Get the hell away from her, Tetch!"_

_*chairs falling over, grunts, thuds*_

"_Get off of me you, jabberwockies! GET OFF!"_

"_Take him back to his cell, I'll take care of the doctor!"_

"_hOw Is A rAvEn LiKe A wRiTiNg DeSk!"_

_*guard and Jervis leave*_

"_Oh, God, Doctor, are you alright?"_

_*heavy breathing*_

"_Do I _look _alright! He nearly chewed my arm off! *hisses*"_

"_You're bleeding…"_

"_No shit!"_

"_C'mon, lets get ya to the Infirmary."_

_*tape ends*_

**7:06 pm**

In the session, while drawing, Jervis began writing "TeA" all over the picture; he then stabbed himself with the colored pencil repeatedly in the arm.

I can't write for long. I have to get home. I had to have stitches. Big teeth hurt like a mother.

My left arm's still sore, even with the painkillers.

Until tomorrow.

_Margaret_

_Day 3 September, Wednesday_

**12:30 pm**

If he wasn't a patient I'd KILL him!

My arm's all wrapped to protect the stitches. The bastard got my pretty deep. I think I've already developed an immunity to the painkillers they gave me yesterday.

I guess no one can say they nearly got their arm chewed off by an Englishman. Heh.

The doctors tell me that Jervis Tetch also had to have stitches on his arm. That kind of makes me feel better.

My next assignment is rescheduled next week, in order to let me recover. How generous of Dr. Arkham. That was sarcasm ,just so you know. It's hard to tell with writing.

Wow, really nothing to say. I guess I could bitch more about the Jervis incident, but that can get tiresome.

Actually, I'm more focused on the vent incident. It just…sticks with me.

I mean, what did I do to peak Crane's interest? I haven't met him. Yet, he must know about me, since he was so damn interested in my hair and determined to go through a vent for it!

Ugh! Talk about creepy!

Wait. Does this me stalks me using the vents? Is he…in there…now?

OH SHIT!

I looked at the vent b-behind me.

I saw-eyes.

Margaret


	4. Week 2

**Daughter of Fear**

**Week 2**

_Day 7 September, Sunday_

**9:01 am**

Last night, I dreamt of cornfields and a sky full of angry black birds. It's the forth time I've had that dream since last Wednesday. I barely remember most of it, but those two things always stood out in my mind. I don't think this is normal. Is the Asylum already starting to get to me?

No! That can't be it, unless…eyes in the vent. They never blinked. I stayed in my office staring back, afraid to blink or look away. If I did, well, I had a feeling something bad might've happen. It was almost two in the morning when Leland finally came in, I turned to her, then quickly back to the vent. The eyes were gone.

Did HE do something to me. Is it those famous toxins? No, wait. Maybe not. I'm just thinking about him a lot. Can't really blame me after those _incidents_ the other week.

Besides, if it were the toxins I'd be seeing some pretty freaky shit 24/7. Nightmares in the daytime, when I'm awake…

I have to leave for work, now. Write later. Hopefully.

**10:38 am**

When I had walked out to my truck, there was a crow. It was perched up on a telephone wire. I know this sounds crazy, but I swear the bird was watching me! It's beady black eyes didn't leave me. The crow stared at me until I dropped my keys. After I picked them back up, the crow was gone.

Things staring at me, then disappearing…that's been happening a lot to me lately.

Or, perhaps, I'm seeing things. Is it that toxin? Scarecrow's toxin? Is it! I don't know. I think I'm scared. Maybe it is.

After all, he obviously has his way of getting around the asylum.

I need to talk to Leland.

**12:06 pm**

It took me a while, but I finally found Leland. I had to run around a _small _portion of the asylum as well as ask the guards and nurses; to which I got a lot of responses of grunts and "I don't knows". People are just ever so helpful!

I found Dr. Leland at one of the many water coolers just lying around. I was out of breath and I'm pretty sure that I was completely flushed.

"Leland!"

She's turned around to face me, "Margaret? W-what is it?"

It took me a little bit to catch my breath, "Can we-we talk?"

"Of course."

I had hesitated, unsure of how to word my question.

"Doctor, lately…well…I've been having these…_nightmares_. The same one every night since Wednesday. The nightmares are about cornfields and…crows, I _think_. Look, I realize this sounds pointless and absurd, but um…I saw Scarecrow last night in the vent in my office and I…think he may be the cause of those nightmares."

"Let me try to understand this, Margaret…you saw Jonathan Crane in your vent?"

"He went away after you came in. I saw his _eyes_ looking at me at least…I _think _they were _his _eyes..."

"You believe he may have caused these nightmares?"

"I dunno…maybe. Or the nightmares could be my own product after last weeks incidents."

"That maybe, but it is best to make sure. Follow me."

Without another word I followed after Dr. Leland, all the way to Cell Block C.

Shit.

Leland told me not to show fear, she said to stand tall and to keep my eyes ahead of me. Easier said than done, I'm afraid. As soon as we entered C, all hell seemed to break loose. The cell block echoed with jeers and taunts and…laughter.

I can still recall some of the things they said to me.

"Oooo, look here! New jail bait! Hey, doc! I have a _surprise _here in my cell if you want it! _AHAHAHAHAHAHA_!"

"Riddle me this, young doctor: What's blonde and isn't going to last another week? What, give up? It's YOU!"

"Fancy seeing you again, Doctor _Alice_.I do hope we can continue last weeks art session. It was quite frabjous, whut! Oh, how's your arm by the way?"

Ugh, Jervis. I'm _really _not starting to like how this day is turning out.

Leland led me further down the cell block; the shouting of the inmates soon became a roar as we neared one cell in particular. It was the cell of Jonathan Crane. The Scarecrow.

We stopped in front of his cell. The front of it was all glass, so the inmates had little to no privacy. The cell was completely dark, but I could see a hunched silhouette hunched up at the cell's other end. The only distinct thing I could see of Crane was the light reflecting off of the rim of his glasses.

Leland stepped closer to the cell.

"Dr. Crane,"

He didn't seem to move or acknowledge her.

"Dr. Ellis and I have a few questions for you."

Still no response or reaction.

Leland sighed, "Crane, Dr. Ellis says she saw you in her office's vent last week."

I'd watched him intently for any sign of a reaction. Not even a twitch.

"She's been having nightmares since that night as well. We just want to make sure that they weren't caused by you. Dr. Crane, do you have anything to do with her nightmares.

His head turned towards us, no…me. The light fell on his glasses fully and across his eyes. They were the same eyes I saw in the vent. Those same pale eyes. Unblinking.

Cranes eyes were locked on mine. I couldn't look away. I couldn't even blink.

His voice was soft and almost asexual in pitch. If you heard his voice alone, not knowing what the embodiment of that voice looked like, you wouldn't be able to comprehend the gender of that voice, nor the age. The softness was very startling in itself, though. It was much to gentle and there was a light southern lilt to it that was almost indistinguishable to the untrained ear.

He spoke to me.

"You have my eyes."

I ran. I ran and didn't look back. Leland called out to me. I ran.

_Margaret_

**Session 2**

**Margaret Ellis**

**3:30pm**

"_Dr. Leland, is this really necessary?"_

"_Margaret, I think we should talk about it. You are still in shock and it's always good to get things off your chest."_

"_Jeremiah put you up to this, didn't he."_

"…_Yes, he did."_

"_Tch. Figures."_

"_But I agree with him that we should talk about this."_

"_So, I'm being recorded like I'm one of the 'patients'?"_

"_I understand that this is uncomfortable, but…we need to understand a few things."_

"_Such as…"_

"_Jonathan Crane has taken an interest in you, and Dr. Arkham wants to understand why."_

"_Do you honestly expect me to know why!"_

"_Margaret-"_

"_I don't fucking know! I haven't even seen the guy's full face! Just his freaky little eyes! How am I suppose to know why he's fucking interested in me! I don't fucking know-!"_

"_MARGARET!"_

"_Yes?"_

"_*sighs* Look, I understand that you're stressed. Maybe, we can talk about this next week. You'll probably have calmed down by then. You are free to go."_

_*chair pushes back, footsteps, door slams*_

"_Margaret seems very defensive. It's not the first time I've noticed this. She appears to enjoy using the f-bomb quite extensively when angered or under stress. I fail to see the appeal that Jonathan Crane possibly sees in her. Perhaps, though, she's just a new 'target'. Dr. Arkham seems to believe this. But I don't believe this._

"_Dr. Crane _is _interested Dr. Ellis. I'm just not sure in what way. It makes me nervous how he's interested. I'm worried for Margaret. I will continue to watch over Margaret and keep a careful eye on Crane._

_Hopefully, Dr. Arkham and I are both wrong."_

_*tape ends*_

_Day 8 September, Monday_

**10:30 am**

Okay, yesterday was just fucking-fuck-fuck! That didn't even make sense to me. Crap, I need a nap. I arrived at work early. No, wait…I _slept _at work. Thank Freud for that stupid therapist couch. It's not the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but I wasn't really ready to drive home. Too shaken up.

Hell, I'm _still _shaken up.

What the fuck did Crane mean that 'I had his eyes'?

Yesterday I did nothing but lock myself in my office and stare into my compact mirror. I couldn't stop staring at my own eyes, trying to see the resemblance to Crane's.

His eyes were an extremely pale blue. Almost colorless. It was very unnerving just to think about them. They never blinked. They just stare. His eyes were almost soulless. Those pale eyes could have been the eyes of a blind man if it wasn't for those pinpoint pupils, those pupils that never seen to dilate.

My eyes were blue was well, but they weren't like his. A ring of grey surrounds the pupils; the rest of eyes are blue and grey swirling together and remind me of light reflecting off of water; then there's a ring of indigo surrounding my eyes.

My eyes are_ nothing _like his. So, why did he say that? Leland seems to be interested in that question, too. And, apparently, Arkham as well.

Dr. Arkham wants me to meet with him is his office. This can't be good.

**Session 3**

**Margaret Ellis**

**11:49 am**

"_Another tape recorder, Dr. Arkham? Really?"_

"_It's necessary."_

"_So, am I a patient as well as a doctor here."_

"_Margaret-"_

"_I would _appreciate _it if you called by my title."_

"_In my eyes you haven't earned that title."_

"_Excuse me!"_

"_You are so far proving to be in capable of the job assigned to you."_

"_But I barely even got started!"_

"_Nonetheless! Margaret, you have a _week _to reach out to one of the patients in the file I have given you last week."_

"_The Rogues! Are you out of your fucking mind? I'm aware of what those _people _do to their doctors. Most doctors have either gone insane, committed suicide, or have been killed. You honestly expect me accomplish this task in a fucking _WEEK_!"_

"_Margaret!"_

"_I thought the inmates were the crazy ones, not the other way around! Fuck, your unbelievable, Arkham! Just fucking unbelievable!"_

"_A week, Margaret. That's all you have. If you are unsuccessful, you will never work in the psychiatric field again. I guarantee it."_

"_You fucker! I'll have your hide for this! I'll fucking show you! No one fucks with me! _NO ONE_!"_

_*loud footsteps, door slams*_

"_Dr. Leland was right about the f-bomb. Margaret is very defensive and has an extremely short fuse. We might have to be careful around her, though she hasn't attacked physically, it could still happen._

"_I still believe Margaret is incapable in her methods. She's young, inexperienced, and too rash. I think it will be the end of her._

_Here's to hope."_

_*tape ends*_

**1:13 pm**

The nerve of that god damn bastard! I'll fucking show him! He'll see. I'm capable. All I have to do is find a patient willing to cooperate within the Rogues Gallery. That'll be like Arkham cutting me some slack…never going to happen.

I'll be going through the files until I have them memorized. I Google Search until my hands blister and my eyes explode. I will learn _everything _I can about these Rogues. I _will _succeed, even if it kills me.

Jeremiah will not win. I won't _let _him!

I refuse to be laughed at. I refuse to be mocked and undermined. When I succeed, I will be the one laughing. Arkham will kiss my ass and clean my apartment by the time I'm through with him.

You'll see. Everyone will see. Margaret Agnes Ellis is not one to fuck with.

_Doctor Margaret Agnes Ellis_


	5. Week 3 or Beginning of the End

**Daughter of Fear**

**Week 3**

_Day 13 September, Saturday_

**3:44 pm**

Shit! Shit, shit, and double SHIT! I'm so gonna lose my job! I fear Arkham will win. I'm fucked. What the hell am I going to do? None of the Rogues so much as tolerate me or even want anything to do with me.

I started off talking to Harleen Quinzel aka Harley Quinn. It wasn't too bad, at first. She didn't try to kill me, but she just-wouldn't-shut-UP! She drew a childish picture of her and "Mistah J" on their wedding day. Harley just kept going on and on about how "cool" it would be once Batman was dead and gone, then she and Joker would ride off into the sunset in a clown car and live happily ever after. But it didn't end there. Oh no. She talked about their kids and their house and their wonderful family life (which we all know will never happen). This lasted the whole session. I wanted to stab myself in the neck with the ends of my glasses.

Harley Quinn was off the list.

Next was Pamela Isley aka Poison Ivy. It was actually good at first. She drew very beautiful flowers. I even told her about my "pet plant" Hoover. She seem to really open up to me after that; that is, until I brought up favorite foods, which mine included lima beans. Our conversation took a nasty turn after that. I had to get out of the room before the angry plant lady could maim me!

Well, Poison Ivy's out.

After Ivy was Edward Nigma aka The Riddler. I thought this was going to be it! He wasn't as extreme or violent like the other Rogues were. I was proven wrong. Instead of a picture, he wrote a riddle. Of course! I didn't know the answer. This pleased him, he was smarter than is doctor. Egotistic bastard! Riddler then asked me if I knew any riddles. I remembered one; it was from the movie _Mirrormask _and I liked the riddle a lot, I thought it was funny. So I asked him: "What's green, hangs on a wall, and whistles?" The Riddler paused to think for a bit. Apparently he never saw the movie, so he didn't know the answer. After a while he finally asked, in a very frustrated tone: "What?" To which I answered: "A herring." His face turned red.

"A herring isn't green!"

"You can paint it green."

"A herring doesn't hang on a wall!"

"You can nail it to a wall."

"A herring doesn't whistle!"

"Oh please, I just threw that in there to make it less obvious."

For a moment The Riddler was seething in quiet anger. All hell then broke out. I quickly left. Like I said: I was wrong.

I made my way down the list, avoiding the extra bad ones like Joker and Scarecrow. They were said to be the worst. And I refuse to go back to Jervis Tetch! My scars are still healing, and not just the physical scars.

There is absolutely no hope. Every last one of them was a failure or a complete disaster. Well, looks like I'm going to have to wear my ovaries on the outside and do one more patient before I give up completely.

It's choice between Joker and Scarecrow. One will kill for the sake of comedy, while the other has taken a sudden interest in me. Which of the evils will I choose? Do I go ahead and get fired, never to work in this field again? Or do I condemn myself to death? Choices.

Okay, looks like I'm gonna pull a Two-Face. Heads: Joker. Tails: Scarecrow. Either way I'm going to end up crying.

Tails.

Fuck Two-Face.

_Margaret_

_Help me._

_Day 14 September, Sunday_

**1:05 pm**

I need to calm down. I need a breather. I'm just such a nervous wreck. Can you blame me? At 2 o'clock I have my first-and last-session with Jonathan Crane…The Scarecrow. I feel like someone on death row, just waiting for the clock to strike my final hour and I will then be escorted by two guards to walk down the green mile…where The Chair is waiting for me.

I realize this sounds overly dramatic, but you have no idea how I feel; what this place is already doing to me and how soon it will all probably end. A little less than an hour before my curtain call.

Journal, if I don't come back, tell my family and friends that I love them. I don't know how you can, but do it! Someone will probably find this and do it. Well, I guess this is goodbye.

_Doctor Margaret A. Ellis_

_**The journal ends here. From now on it's a narration. **_

My heart pounds as I'm being escorted. The two guards are silent as their heavy footsteps echo. This _is _my death sentence. Dr. Arkham has sentenced me to death and I chose my own form of execution. Death by Scarecrow.

I wanted to run back down the hallway. I wanted to escape from this island of madness. But I _must _see through this to the end.

My thoughts are damn depressing, it's not even funny. I should be trying to make light of the situation, you know, use my ever so charming dark sense of humor to bring myself cheer. I just don't have the heart.

As such dreary thoughts plagued my mind I didn't notice that we finally reached the room where I will be doing my session with Jonathan Crane.

I let out a shaky breath, "Where's the fucking funeral music when you need it?"

"Excuse me?" one of the guards asked; I can't see their faces behind their helmets and visors.

"Never mind," I mumbled.

The other guard turned to me and said, "Crane isn't in there yet. They're still trying to get him out of his cell, but he should be here shortly."

"You can go inside and get ready while they're doing so."

Great. My death is prolonged by a few minutes.

"Thanks."

The guards will be guarding the door on the outside, so I was alone when I settled down in the room. Paper and colored pencils, markers, watercolor, brushes, and number two pencils were laid out on the table. I soon became bored and started rearranging the art supplies. I put the colored in order first by color, then hue, and then shade. I then tried putting brushes in order of thickness, width, and length.

I'm not OCD, just bored and awaiting my doom.

After a while I heard footsteps approaching the door. My heart rate quickened. The door opened.

"Here he is, doc! Behave, Crane or I'm gonna hafta beat the shit outta ya!"

"Of course, if that will help you cope,"

That voice.

"Shuddup!"

Jonathan Crane was practically shoved into the room.

I looked up from where I was sitting to get a good look at my new patient.

Oh, fuck he's tall! He's probably around six feet tall, maybe even a few _inches_ taller! I was taken aback. One so tall shouldn't be _that _thin. His orange Arkham uniform was nearly falling off of his shoulders, revealing a collarbone that protruded more so than it should. A black belt revealed how thin his waist was, it would undoubtedly make a lot of female models jealous!

Was it me, or were his arms and longs longer than they should be. His torso was pretty long for a torso, but his _limbs _were freaky long. I have to stop focusing on his body. My eyes scanned up to look at his face.

It was long, thin, and gaunt. Various line decorated his aging face, but they somehow suited him. The lines made him look like the professor he used to be. His lips were thin and pulled into a slight smile, which didn't suit him at all. Crane's thick glasses framed his pale, sunken-in eyes that made him appear so…inhuman.

Dark, wavy, brown hair was cut short and into a professional and smart style. I suppose he still thinks he is a professor.

I drank in every last detail that was Jonathan Crane. He was unnerving to look at, his eyes were enough to give me nightmares. But I was so _fascinated_ by his appearance. I have never seen anything like it.

I wanted to draw him.

"Hello, Margaret. How are you doing this after noon?"

Okay, I wasn't expecting _that _! I didn't expect him to be polite at _all_. From all the stores I've read and heard about him…well, I didn't expect this. Maybe I was thinking he would be more, I dunno…intimidating…vengeful…just plain scary?

"Uh…I'm doing fine uh…thank you,"

What else am I supposed to say!

"Will take a seat, please." I asked him. Might as well be polite back, stay on his good side.

Jonathan Crane nodded and took a seat at the other end of the table, a pretty safe distance. As safe as it can be with _those _limbs. He could reach across the table and strangle me if he wanted to. How lovely.

He folded his hands elegantly-the same hands that reached from the vent-and rested his chin on them, and he then seem to study me.

"Margaret-"

"If you don't mind, I would like to be called 'Dr. Ellis'," I said carefully.

Crane raised an eyebrow, "Very well, and you shall refer to me as 'Dr. Crane'."

"Fair enough."

"Now, let me start again…_Dr. Ellis_, are afraid of me?"

I was silent. How do I respond? I don't want him to know I'm afraid, but if I tell him I'm not…he might get pissed.

"I…"

How do I respond?

"I…am."

"Really?"

I nodded.

Dr. Crane closed his eyes and seemed to be contemplating my answer, trying to absorb it. Finally, he opened his eyes and gave a strange, cunning sort of smile. I shivered.

"Doctor, you are the first one to admit that. Tell me, why _are _you afraid of me?"

This time I didn't hesitate, "Because I'm not stupid."

Crane's smile turned into a full out grin. Is it me, or do his teeth seem _sharp_?

"Really?"

"I like to _think _I'm not, at least."

Dr. Crane's features calmed to the point of being emotionless as he unfolded his hands and leaned back in his chair. His unsettling eyes peered at above his glasses as he scrutinized me further.

It felt like many minutes have passed before I cleared my throat, "I believe we should begin our session now."

I pulled out a small sketchbook and a dull, wooden pencil and slid it over to Crane's side of the table, "Here, Dr. Crane, draw whatever you like."

He didn't pick up the pad or pencil, he just stared at them as if they were foreign objects to him. After a minute, he looked back up at me. His thin lips turned up into a dreamy smile. It did not fit him well. Crane's thin hand pushed the pad and pencil back to my side of the table.

"Why don't you draw for me, Dr. Ellis. I would like to see your work," his eyes flashed with sudden color.

I was taken aback. Without question _he _was the patient and I the doctor, but I found nothing wrong with his request. What would be the harm of me drawing instead of him? Who knows, it might encourage him.

I took up the tolls of my trade, "Uh, very well, Dr. Crane."

He actually looked pleased with me. I guess he missed being a psychologist.

At first I didn't know what to draw, my pencil remained poised centimeters above the blank paper. Suddenly, I had an onslaught of clarity. I had wanted to draw _him_. My pencil instantly started to glide on the paper. There was a bit of a rough start that involved a lot of erasing, but it soon came easy to me. His features taking shape and form on white canvas.

I felt his eyes never leaving me as my pace quickened. Before I knew it, I had a rough sketch of a headshot of Dr. Jonathan Crane. I set the pencil down on the table to indicate I had finished.

My eyes met Crane's momentarily.

"May I see?"

"E-excuse me?"

"May I see your drawing?"

"Oh! Um…" Should I show him? I mean. it would be pretty awkward for him to see. What would he think of me drawing a picture of him? Before I could come up with a proper response, Crane had reached over the able and snatched up the pad.

"Hey!" I cried out.

Crane clutched the pad in both hands as he studied the drawing. For a moment it looked like it took a while for it to register that the drawing was of him. Crane's eyes widened ever so slightly as he slowly put the sketch back down on the table.

"This…proves it," he murmured hoarsely.

"Pardon?"

Suddenly, Crane bolted from his chair and practically flew across the table. I threw up my arms and screamed. I was panicked, I couldn't do a damn thing! I felt the man collide with me, I was knocked out of my chair and I felt my back hit the floor. The wind was knocked out of me and I lost my ability to scream. I felt like was going to black out. I tried to scream once more, but all I got was a squeak.

I then realized that nothing was happening. I wasn't being assaulted or nothing!

My eyes slowly opened-I had them closed? I felt long arms wrapped around me tightly. I looked to see that I was face to face with Dr. Crane's chest, my nose was buried against it. I began to tremble and sweat formed on my brow and under my arms. What the hell do I do? I can't move! I couldn't move.

I felt him breath in deeply. The air escaping his nostrils ruffled my hair and made me shiver. The man was _smelling _me! He was fucking smelling me!

Someone or several someones were pounding violently on the door as if they were trying to break it down. The door then came crashing to the floor with a loud bang. The two guards that were at the door came running in.

"Doc, are you alright!"

"Oh, crap! Get him off of here!"

Despite the fact that Crane was an extremely malnourished man, the two guards had a hard time pulling Crane off of me. To help, I did my best to struggle from his gangly, but strong grasp.

I finally broke free. I crawled away, still shaking and in shock. I was hugged by Jonathan Crane…The Scarecrow! Or…his version of a hug at least.

"Wait…guards!"

The guards were on either side of Crane, both had each of his arms.

"D…don't hurt…him," I said timidly.

Both guards looked at me like I had just finally cracked; who knows, maybe I did.

"Look, he didn't hurt me." I struggled to stand up, I was able to but I was still very shaky, "Tell Dr. Arkham I w-would like another session with…Crane."

At this Dr. Crane looked up at me in surprise, which quickly faded away to a smug look directed at the guards.

Everyone was silent, unsure of how to react.

One of the guards coughed, "Very well…Dr. Ellis."

They began to drag Jonathan Crane away before he called out to me, "I'm looking forward to our next session, my pet!"

It was meant to sound affectionate, but I instead felt dread. It sounded sinister to my ears. Did the room just get colder, or was that just Crane?

I don't know what to expect from Jonathan Crane now. What is he playing at? He unexpectedly became loving, if that's what you call, towards me. He literally attacked with a hug and now he just called me "my pet". What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I just hope not to see anymore eyes in the vent.


	6. No Longer Counting Weeks

_Daughter of Fear_

_No Longer Counting Weeks, What Shall I Count?_

_**I awoke early, way too early even for my usual standards, but I couldn't go back to sleep. My apartment felt foreign to me and I could barely identify my furniture and books. It was all so unsettling to me, these everyday items.**_

_**I had another dream. Again, I can barely remember any significant detail besides the cornfield and a sky full of crows. But this time it wasn't those things that woke me up. There was a scarecrow in my dream. It looked like any other scarecrow in a field, if it wasn't for the human eyes and teeth. I think it was smiling…or sneering**_**.**

**Cold sweat covered my body and I ran a hand through my damp hair. I might as well take a shower.**

**When I got out of the shower I dried off and half-assed it, too. I quickly pulled on a giant, blue sweater and a pair of clean underwear. I didn't have work in a few hours, so why bother getting dressed **_**now**_**? As I was brushing my hair, I heard a hard tapping sound.**

**I stopped mid brush and slowly put the brush down on the sink. The tapping was coming from my room. My heart was pounding and I was practically on my last nerve! I don't think I can handle anymore surprises. Well, I better **_**start **_**.**

**The tapping seemed to become more frantic or agitated. I bit back a laugh, the tapping was annoyed with me.**

"**Alright, alright! I'm coming. Sheesh!" I whispered hoarsely.**

**I scanned my room, looking for the source of the ceaseless tapping. There was a huge, unidentifiable shadow lurking on the other side of the curtain. The shadow was tapping on my window. **

**A part of me screamed at me to not go near the window. The biggest portion of my brain told me curiosity killed the cat, but the "little idiot" in me simply responded, "But I'm not a cat."**

**And that "little idiot" was what motivated my body to move towards the window, and to open it. My feet dragged across the carpet, painfully slow. The shadow was hopping and moving about on the other side of the curtain. I think I could make out the shape of it, but I **_**still **_**can't tell what it is yet. **

**But the shadow was **_**huge**_**, maybe a small animal of sorts. As I neared the covered window, I could make out the form a lot better. It was a…**

**Bird. A large…bird. I could see the thin legs, what looked like a beak, and now it's flapping it's wings. **

**What the **_**hell **_**kind of bird is that fucking big? A hawk? No, not "broad" enough and the beak was too long. Are there even hawks in Gotham?**

**Why am I even asking myself that?**

**I grasped a firm hold and the paisley curtain and quickly pulled it aside.**

"**H-hey…you look…familiar," I stammered. **

**It was a crow. A large one, even for a crow. And it did look familiar. I could never forget those eyes. You know, most animals would turn away if they were given eye contact, especially from a human, but not this scavenger. It stared me down. I was the one who had to look away.**

"**You were the one watching me…" **

**It wasn't a question. I new for a fact it was the same damn crow.**

**The massive creature glared at me for a moment longer before taking it's sharp, cruel beak and jabbing at my window insistently. I could see a crack starting to form on the glass.**

**I unlocked the window and slowly slid it up. I made a mental note to myself: talk to landlord about screens for the windows. I smirked to myself. Random thoughts often pop into my head at the most inappropriate of times. It can't be helped. **

**When the window was only halfway up, the enormous bird dived into my apartment in a fury of black feathers and talons. I threw my arms up to protect my face. I stumbled back and fell to the floor with a violent thud.**

**No more fluttering, no cawing. It was silent. A calmness had descended upon the apartment.**

**I slowly sat up and opened my eyes. The large crow was perched at the foot of my bed, it's cruel talons digging into the wooden post. It continued to stare at me. All I could do was stare back. I was terrified to move, less the crow would attack, and looking at it's talons…I could only imagine how much damage they could do. I noticed there was a piece of paper tied to one of the crow's legs. **

**The glared daggers at me as I stood up. I looked at the piece of paper once more. A message? The crow ruffled its feathers impatiently. I took tentative step forward and then hesitated. The savage creature didn't move, just looked at me. **

**I swallowed; then I took another step. When the crow didn't attack I took a few more steps. Okay, still not trying to kill me. I finally made my way over to the bird . It shifted a little bit on the post, but didn't try to harm me. Yet.**

**My hand trembled as I reached for the piece of paper. The crow's eyes seem to follow the movements of my hand. I grasped the paper, then looked at the bird. I took a deep breath and untied the string holding the paper the its leg. The string came undone easily and I quickly snatched it, and backed away form the crow.**

**The paper was no more than a scrap and it was rolled up tightly. Before unrolling, I glanced once more at the crow. **

**I fumbled with the paper before I finally unrolled it.**

**It was a note. The hand writing was neat and professional looking. I had trouble reading it, since the handwriting was small. But I managed.**

_**Dear Margaret,**_

_**I feel I must apologize for Scarecrow's behavior; he doesn't know the meaning of "personal space". I do look forward to our next session. Oh, and would you mind giving Nightmare a treat. He expects one after doing a good job. It's much appreciated.**_

_**Sincerely Yours,**_

_**Dr. Jonathan Crane**_

_**PS He bites. **_

**I felt my face drain away of color. I looked back up at the crow, called Nightmare apparently. I felt it laughing at me. **

**A treat. What the hell am I supposed to give Nightmare as a treat! It's not like I have road kill lying around the house. I sighed and walked out of my room and into the kitchen.**

**I heard flapping; it appears that the crow is following me. Just terrific. **

**I went to the pantry to see if anything that could be considered a treat for a crow was in there. Peas. No. Bread. No. Twinkies. No. No. No. No. NO! **

**Teriyaki beef jerky. Hm. Better than nothing. **

**I opened the packet and pulled out a strip of jerky. I tore the strip in half and popped one of the two into my mouth. My mouth watered as I tasted the meat. Damn, I love jerky! **

**A cawing noise came from behind. I turned around to see Nightmare hoping about on the kitchen counter. Despite how fearsome Nightmare looked, it was almost a comical sight. I approached the crow and slowly extended my hand out with the piece of jerky dangling between my fingertips. **

**Nightmare paused and took a look at the dried meat I held out to him. He cocked his head to the right and scrutinized the treat. He hoped forward and, before I could flinch, snatched it quickly from my grasp. Nightmare swallowed the jerky greedily. If birds could lick their beaks, this crow would.**

**I don't know how, but I could tell he liked it. Perhaps it was how he flapped his feathers, or maybe the gleam in his eye.**

**A smile ghosted my lips. You know, when he wasn't being threatening, he was kind of…cute. Cute. A weird word to describe a giant crow. **

**I reached into the bag again and gave Nightmare another piece. He took eagerly.**

**I giggled and gave him another and another.**

**And again and again, he took the jerky.**

**When Nightmare seemed to be full he flew off towards my room. I ran after him. He flew out my window and back out into the night. **

**I sighed and look towards the clock on my dresser. That much time has passed? Really? I sighed more heavily. Looks like I'll be getting ready for work soon.**

**I looked down to find myself still holding the packet of teriyaki beef jerky. Breakfast. I reached into the bag and ate another piece.**

**My stomach growled for more. I thought again of Nightmare.**

**I need to remember to buy more jerky.**

**I sat in my cramped office going through Crane's file. I already skimmed over it, but this time I would pay attention to every detail. There is a lot of information about his crimes and his years as a professor and a psychologist. But there wasn't a whole lot about his life before then, except that he came from Arlen, Georgia. Hm. Weird. He doesn't have the accent. Oh, and he strangled his mother on Mother's Day. Lovely. **

**There was a knock at my door. I adjusted my glasses and cleared my throat, "Yes, come in!"**

**Dr. Arkham opened the door and stepped into my office. Great, the **_**last **_**I wanted to see. **

**I stood up and tried to feign politeness.**

"**What can I do you for, doctor?" I asked, then mentally slapped myself for my poor grammar. Sometimes my Kentucky dialect slips. **

**Arkham pursed his lips noticing the grammar mistake as well. I noticed he was caring a tattered notebook that had seen better days. I cocked my head to the side as I examined it.**

**He noticed my attention on the notebook and held it out for me, "Jonathan Crane wanted you to have this. He **_**insisted**_**. Don't worry, we've already checked for any trace of toxin. It's clear."**

**I reached out and gingerly took the notebook. **

"**Is that all, Arkham?"**

**He stiffened, "No. I came here to tell you that you are scheduled to meet with Crane later in the evening. Possible around five at the latest."**

**I nodded, "Fine."**

**Arkham turned to leave. He paused in the doorway, "Personally, I wouldn't allow to interact with him after yesterday's **_**incident**_**, but since you are so damn persistent…I see I have no choice."**

**I could hear the sneer in his voice as he said it. When the door slammed shut, hateful thoughts clouded my brain.**

**That…**_**bastard**_**. That god damn, slimy **_**bastard**_**! I clinched my fists, digging my nails into my palms. My teeth dug into my bottom lip. **

**Bastard! Fucking bastard! I'll show you. You'll see. **_**Everyone **_**will see. I won't be mocked nor will I be an old bastard's joke!**

**He'll see.**

**Now, I couldn't wait for my next session. **

**To pass the time I decided to look through the notebook Crane left me. I opened it to the first page. It was covered in doodles of scarecrows, crows, and what looked like a snarling Batman. **

**I smirked. It was so childish looking.**

**I turned to the next page.**

**Fear.**

**That's all it said. Scrawled out all over the page at every angle and covering the entire page completely, and leaving no blank space. Fear. How fantastic.**

**The third page was different from the first to. There was writing on it; the same elegant and professional writing as the note I got on Nightmare. I decided to read:**

"_**My research is becoming more difficult to practice behind these filthy walls. Jeremiah is an infuriating and incompetent doctor that I have groan to loathe…"**_

**Hey, something Crane and I can agree on.**

"…_**he is preventing me from interacting with the other inmates as punishment for my last experimentation. Personally, I don't see what the problem is, the guard I gassed was a complete moron and did very poorly at his job. Guard indeed!"**_

**I had to stop myself from laughing too hard. I turned to the next page. More writing.**

"_It has been brought to my attention that I will be receiving a new doctor. A female. I currently have her resume and have been skimming through it to learn what I can of her. An art therapist. Ha! Amusing indeed."_

Amusing? Bastard.

The next set of writing was different. It was written so hard that there were holes where some of the words were. The pen punctured through the paper, it appeared. It looked like another person had gotten a hold Crane's notebook and wrote in it himself.

"_**MARY had a LITLLE LAMB…little lamb…yellow like straw! STRAW HAIR…pretty…yellow…STRAW. How does her GARDEN grow? CHILD…she's a child! Straw hair…Mary had a little lamb…SCARECROW WILL HAVE A LAMB!"**_

What…the hell. I threw the notebook back onto the table, as if it burned me. What the hell! What was _that_?

There was knocking at my door. It startled me so that I nearly jumped right out of my seat.

"W-who is it!" I called out.

The door opened to reveal Dr. Leland. I sighed in relief. Finally, someone I can tolerate or…doesn't scare the crap out of me.

"Leland! What is it?"

Dr. Leland closed the door behind her as she entered my office, "Margaret, I need to have a word with you."

I nodded and motioned for her to take a seat.

She took a deep breath, "Listen…I don't think you should do this."

There was a pause.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't think you should have another session with Crane. I know you don't want to hear this, but I must interfere before things get out of hand. Dr. Akham is only letting you proceed with these sessions in hopes that you would fall victim to the Rogues."

My eyes narrowed, "I know that."

"Then why are you doing this! Margaret, I fear for you! I don't want you to end up like all of the others. Scarecrow will tear you apart and you either be dead or another Drooler and I-"

"Leave."

"What?"

"Leave!"

We stared at each other for a long time before I spoke again, "I will not let Arkham win."

"Win? So, this is all a _competition _for you! Margaret, I expected better form you."

"You didn't expect _shit_!" I stood up so fast that I knocked my chair over, "I have had enough of everyone in this hell doubting me! I have taken shit from Arkham as well the entire Rogues Gallery, and I will not take anything from _you_!"

Leland stood up, holding her hands in a defensive position, "Margaret, _please_, I'm not trying to make you feel incompetent. I worry about you. You're still young and full of great potential, don't throw it all away because of your pride!"

"Enough! Get out and leave me be. I will continue with these sessions and soon, _everyone _will see. I will not be laughed at!"

Dr. Leland's face went red. She didn't say anything more; she stormed out of my office, slamming the door behind her.

She'll see.

I sat waiting for Jonathan to be brought to me. I had everything ready and my impatience was rising. My finger drummed out an irregular rhythm on the table as I gnawed on my bottom lip. I was never a patient person, but now it was all so unbearable!

Voices were on the other side of the door, now. I immediately perked up and sat up straighter.

The door was opened and Jonathan Crane was escorted in. This time the guards escorted him roughly to his seat. When Crane had sat down I motioned for the guards to leave. They hesitated and were about to object if I hadn't narrowed my eyes at them.

The guards quickly left the room.

"Good evening, _doctor_. I trust you had a lovely evening?" Jonathan Crane smiled.

I frowned.

Crane raised his eyebrows, "Oh, dear. What seems to be troubling you so, my pet?"

My pet. It was the second time he called me that.

"It's nothing to concern yourself with, Dr. Crane. Arkham's being an ass, that's all."

Jonathan Crane's narrowed as he face pulled back into a sneer, "Ah, yes, _Arkham_, such a pathetic excuse of a doctor."

"Yes, you've mentioned that in your journal."

He appeared to be pleased, "You've read it? What did you think?"

"I-I've only looked at a couple of pages, but…"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering about one passage. You see, the handwriting's different and seems to contain bits of nursery rhymes-"

"Scarecrow."

I was puzzled, "What?"

"Scarecrow now and then gets a hold of my journals and writes in his own input. It is quite a nuisance, but I suppose Scarecrow has a right to express himself."

"But-wait a minute, aren't _you _Scarecrow?"

Crane chuckled and shook his head, "Silly child, there's so much you don't understand."

"Then _let _me understand, Dr. Crane."

He paused once again and studied me. Crane smiled, "Very well. You see, Scarecrow and I are in the same body and we can tend to be one and the same. But there are times when he completely takes over my body and is in full control while I'm, in a manner of speaking, in the passenger seat. And there are even times when we _share_, we are both operating the same vehicle at the same time."

"So…it's like DID?"

Crane let out a little laugh, "Dissociative Identity Disorder? Yes, I can see how you would think that. How funny, but no. Scarecrow isn't another personality, he's another _being_. Something else entirely."

I crossed my arms, "Now it seems you're hinting at possession, Dr. Crane. Is that what you think?"

I never thought anyone, much less Crane, could laugh so damn hard. He was holding his side and rocking back and forth. Tears were threatening to spill out of his eyes as he laughed.

When he finally regained his composure, he wiped his eyes and sighed, "Oh, my pet, you are a delight."

There he goes again with the "my pet" thing.

"You keep calling me that."

"Calling you what?"

"Calling me 'my pet'. What's the deal with that?"

Dr. Crane straightened himself up and folded his hands in his lap, "I believe it is a term of endearment."

"Well, I know that. What I want to know is _why_."

Crane was quiet; he didn't seem to know how to answer my question. He tapped his finger repeatedly on his chin. His eyes looked up at the ceiling, as if the tiled would provide an answer.

At last he spoke, "I suppose it is because I do feel some ounce of _affection_, of course. You see, I find you a most peculiar young woman: stubborn, rash, foul mouth, passionate and…angry. You fascinate me, Margaret. I hope to…get to know you a bit more."

My eyes widened, "Oh, well…one more question: why did you 'hug' me?"

Jonathan Crane grinned, "Scarecrow's much better at showing affection than I."


End file.
